offshore | h.s

33

GENEVIEVE CLARK

As the car glides through the streets of my beautiful old suburb of Manly, I feel a mixture of anxiety and nostalgia welling up within me.

Harry's hand in mine provides a grounding comfort, and I can't help but smile when he squeezes it three times, our secret code for "I love you." I meet his gaze and offer a thankful smile before turning to look out the window.

The familiar sights of the place I used to call home pass by - the cozy coffee shop where I spent countless mornings with Avery and Archie, the local beaches, and the bustling streets that were once so familiar.

I miss those days, but they also feel like a distant memory, a chapter from a different lifetime.

I think about the friends I had back then, the ones I had to cut ties with because of Archie's control. It was one of the hardest things I've ever had to do, but at that time, I believed it was the right thing.

The car turns onto my old street, and my heart races even faster as we pull into the driveway of the white coastal house surrounded by lush greenery, with an ocean view and a quaint picket fence.

It's the house that holds memories of some of the darkest years of my life, a place I've been trying to escape from.

I close my eyes briefly, trying to steady myself, but the memory plays out vividly despite my efforts. It was a night like any other, until Archie came home, his steps heavy and unsteady. The stench of alcohol clung to him, and I felt a tightening knot of unease in my stomach.

As the door slammed shut behind him, I saw the anger simmering in his eyes. He was already in a rage, and it was clear that this was going to escalate.

He stumbled through the living room, knocking over a side table with a crash. Glass shattered against the floor, and I flinched at the noise.

"Gen," he slurred my name, his voice dangerous. I turned to face him, my heart racing, my palms sweating.

"What's wrong, Archie?" I tried to keep my voice steady, but the quiver betrayed my fear.

He didn't answer, his eyes dark and wild. Without warning, he reached for a glass on the counter and hurled it across the room. It shattered against the wall, and I felt a spray of glass fragments.

My heart pounded in my chest, and I knew I needed to do something. As another glass flew past me, I made a split-second decision. I raced down the hall to Avery's room, the sound of breaking glass echoing behind me.

I locked the door, my breath coming in ragged gasps. I held Avery, who was just six months old at the time, close to my chest. Her innocent face, framed by soft curls, looked up at me, her eyes sleepy and content.

As I rocked her, my silent tears fell onto her blanket. I rocked her gently, soothing her while my own heart raced with fear. The sounds of Archie's anger echoed through the house, and I wished I could shield Avery from it all.

Eventually, the noise subsided, but the memory of that night remained etched in my mind. The vulnerability, the terror, the feeling of being trapped—those emotions are still part of me, even now.

Opening my eyes, I take a shaky breath and look at Harry, who stands beside me with concern in his eyes.

"Gen?" Harry's voice breaks through the haze of my memories, and I blink, coming back to the present. I look at him, his concerned eyes searching mine, and I try to push away the haunting thoughts that have taken over my mind.

I take a deep breath, a shaky exhale, and meet Harry's gaze. "Yeah?" I manage to respond, my voice tinged with unease.

"You ready?" Harry asks gently, his hand finding mine, offering comfort in his touch.